


Posturing

by mountain_ash



Series: Things I Write on Tumblr dot com [23]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Human Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Omega Derek, Scent Marking, Soulmates, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions, Werewolf Courting, a/b/o dynamics, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_ash/pseuds/mountain_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finally gets invited to the California werewolf convention and Derek is looking for a new pack. Stiles catches his eye and a little confusion ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Posturing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on [tumblr](http://a-mountain-ash.tumblr.com/post/150120857680/an-anon-asked-me-to-write-about-alphastiles-and)!
> 
> Disclaimer: lots of people have been saying they liked the original idea behind this fic, but it isn't mine. Someone prompted me with it on tumblr!

“You have to go Stiles. Alphas don't just not go to these things.”

“I'm not a real alpha, Scott. You guys just act like I am.”

“All the more reason you have to go.” Lydia added. “All those other _real_ alphas are just waiting for you to show a weakness. Not going would make you look scared, like you're not capable of holding your own. Like we're up for grabs.”

Stiles bristled at that. His pack was not for the taking, whether or not they were bonded to him by bite or blood. They were his and so was Beacon Hills.

“Fine.” He grit out, much to Lydia and Scott’s pleasure.

“I'm going with!” Scott said. “You need to bring a show of strength, and who better than your first beta?”

The conference was an annual, all-expenses-paid extravaganza hosted by this millionaire alpha in Ojai who only really wanted all the California weres to get along. She was ancient, influential, flamboyant, and greeted every guest at the door of the hotel with a huge smile on her face. Stiles wasn't sure if she kept her rank with money or kindness, but no one messed with her so she obviously did something right.

This was Stiles’ first year being invited to the event and as soon as he stepped into his private room with king size bed and free movies on-demand, he was mighty glad he'd let his betas convince him to RSVP. He wasn't allowed to enjoy the bed for long however before Scott was pounding on his door.

“Yes, Scotty?” He said wearily as he opened the door for his friend, who was wearing a fresh outfit. “The first event isn’t for another half hour, dude.”

“Yeah I know, but I also know you're going to try to attend dressed in your travel clothes and that's a total no-no man.”

Much grumbling and protestation later, Stiles was dressed in a deep red crew neck sweater over a blue and white checked button-up, pair of slim khakis, and blue suede bucks.

“Lydia completely re-packed for me didn't she?” Stiles whined.

“Of course she did. Couldn't let you show up in three day old flannel and worn out converse.”

“But that's who I am, Scotty.”

“Well you bought all these clothes, so some part of you wanted to make a good impression at some point.” Lydia had definitely schooled Scott on his arguments and this was a bloody conspiracy. She was going to hear it later.

“These are my date clothes!”

“Well pretend you're on a date with the werewolves. Maybe you'll manage to get yourself an actual date in the process.”

That was admittedly a decent prospect and Stiles stopped arguing. Werewolves had a tendency to be very hot.

Hot indeed, Stiles thought to himself as he walked into the opening reception and caught sight of all the beautiful people. Grabbing himself a mug of coffee, Stiles led Scott around the room as he observed everyone, identifying the alphas from their accompanying betas and catching glimpses of the occasional omegas who were likely in search of new packs.

He was not unaware of the frequent, curious stares sent his direction but Stiles generally ignored them, letting Scott work his lovable puppy eyes to diffuse the tension. In all honesty, Stiles didn't know why he was there. He wasn't friendly, nor was he diplomatic. His success as an alpha came from his unfailing loyalty and “would die for” attitude towards his betas, but he possessed none of the social skills nor instinctual werewolf behaviors required to be diplomatic. All he had was his textbook knowledge of werewolf social rules and Scott, who knew none of those rules because he refused to read the manual.

Seemingly hours of niceties later, Stiles finally dragged Scott back up to their adjoining rooms only to find a single potted wolfsbane flower sitting in front of his door. Were he a werewolf, it would have signified an act of violence, but since he was human, the flower was an ambiguous request for cooperation that could be taken romantically or diplomatically. Only further offerings would reveal the giver’s intentions.

As Stiles looked it over for signs of who might have left it, Scott reached down and picked up the pot without preamble.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” Stiles gasped.

Scott looked up at him innocently. “What do you mean? I'm just bringing it in for you.”

“You've accepted it! On my behalf. Now I have to meet this person!”

Scott raised his eyebrows in naive confusion. “Isn't that the point of being here? Besides,” he added as he sniffed at the pot, “he smells nice.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as he opened the door. “You guys are so weird sometimes.”

He didn't change before the dinner and when he left to head down to the dining hall he found a small note slipped under his door written in attractively flowing handwriting: _I'm glad you accepted. Find me at table 33 for dinner. Your beta can eat with us._

“Well thank you so much for the permission.” Stiles grumbled as he knocked at Scott’s door.

His heart races as they walked downstairs and Scott patted him on the back comfortingly. This sort of bizarre werewolf courting was precisely the reason Stiles hadn't wanted to come. Werewolves came into Beacon Hills and treated him like human meat all too often for him to willing subject himself to it here, yet here he was because Scott hadn't read the manual.

No one was at table 33 when they sat down and Stiles realized he'd arrived a whole ten minutes early thanks to his nervous jitters.

“Calm down. This person obviously doesn't want to eat you.” Scott paused before mumbling under his breath, “Not in the deadly way at least.”

A pink flush spread rapidly over Stiles’ face and down his neck and a took several large gulps of ice water.

“Shut up, Scotty.” He grumbled.

Scott looked like he was about to respond when his head jerked up and his gaze caught someone behind Stiles. Before Stiles could turn to find what he was looking at, a man walked past him and sat at the last empty chair. He had short black hair spiked slightly at the front, an impeccably groomed beard, and brilliant, pale green eyes. A forest green Henley hugged sinful shoulders and dark jeans hugged long, toned legs.

“Um, hi,” he said to the man in a choked voice. “You left the flower, I take it?”

The older man blushed at the tips of his ears and Stiles felt his heart pick up pace again. This guy was exactly his type and he found himself hoping for the first time that the flower was a romantic gesture rather than diplomatic one.

“I did. I'm Derek Hale, by the way.”

“Stiles. You probably already know that though.” The blush on Derek's ears deepened and spread down his neck. Stiles couldn't help but find it incredibly adorable on such an intimidating looking man, and he wondered why this werewolf was so embarrassed. “So did you want to make some sort of treaty or something?”

The words were barely out of Stiles’ mouth when Derek’s thick eyebrows furrowed in frustration and Scott actually groaned from his place at the table, even though he'd promised to stay quiet.

“A treaty. Right.” Derek's voice came out flat, and Stiles knew he'd disappointed the werewolf somehow. “Well I'm an omega and I'll be moving back to Beacon Hills, so I wanted to join your pack.”

While he had asked, Derek's reply was rather forward by werewolf standards and Stiles found himself slightly taken aback.

“You realize I can't just accept, right? We don't know anything about you.” Stiles wanted to accept Derek right there. In fact, Stiles wanted to drag Derek straight to his room and claim Derek in every way imaginable, but he stifled the impulse valiantly.

Derek was tapping his fingers nervously and he looked over at Scott anxiously. Stiles wasn't sure what was going on, but Scott nodded and Derek cleared his throat uncomfortably before proceeding to stare into his hands.

“Did you want to add something?” Stiles pressed.

The omega’s eyes darted up to his before he looked away again and scrubbed nervously at his beard.

“Will you scent me?” He asked abruptly, finally breaking the silence he'd created. “Not a final claim or anything, just enough to show the others you’re considering. I don't want other offers.”

Stiles shivered as Derek's voice seemed to drop an octave and the subtext felt infinitely more intimate than it likely was meant to. He licked his lips unconsciously and his eyes flickered to Derek's neck.

“Just a little,” he said finally, his voice lower than he expected. Stiles watched Derek swallow thickly as he reached forward across the table and slid his hand around the back of Derek’s neck. He let his long fingers massage the tense muscles and he felt strangely fulfilled as he watched Derek relax beneath his hands. Suddenly Scott cleared his throat and Stiles and Derek jolted apart.

“That was probably more than a little.” He informed Stiles awkwardly.

“S-sorry.” Stiles stammered, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment between him and Derek. “Got carried away. I'm gonna go back to my room now.”

He found himself practically running back to his room in order to get away from Derek, who had continued to stare at him. Once in the safety of his room, he took a few shuddering breathes before his gaze fell on the wolfsbane. Why had Derek picked him? He wasn't any good at any of this.

A knock at the door brought him back to his senses and he stood up shakily to answer it.

“It's Derek.” Came a voice across the door before he could ask. “I brought dinner.”

Stiles chuckled nervously as he reached for the handle. Bringing food to an alpha was another typical “courting” ritual of an omega who wanted a new pack. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asked when he opened the door. He held a plate of food in one hand and mug of coffee in the other.

“Fine.” Stiles answered roughly.

“I didn't know it would affect you so strongly. I shouldn't have asked.” Derek said quietly as Stiles took a bite of the mashed potatoes with shaky hands.

“Why do you want me to be your alpha, huh?” Stiles asked bluntly. “Why pick the human?”

“I-I d-don't know really,” Derek stuttered out with difficulty. “S-so many alphas come here with an agenda. When I saw you at the reception you just seemed like you were here to be here. I want a neutral pack.”

It was a reasonable answer, but he still wasn't sure. Derek was sending him mixed signals and Stiles wasn't sure he was interested in expanding his pack outside of romantic interests. Stiles was under no illusion. He could see the interest other alphas had shown Derek during dinner, eyeing him like a piece of meat. If Stiles didn't claim Derek as a mate, someone else would, and that was a heavy commitment to make. Werewolves mated for life and humans just, didn't. Derek would eventually come to love whoever claimed him, but would Stiles if he claimed him first.

He was unaware of his rising panic when suddenly his over-tight grip shattered his mug and hot coffee sloshed down his arm.

“Agh! Shit.” He sprang into the bathroom and pulled his sleeves up until he could run cold water over his bare, tattooed forearm. His skin stung angry red from the piping hot coffee and tears sprang to his eyes against his will 

“Here,” Derek said softly before reaching out and lightly gripping Stiles’ elbow. The black lines Stiles had seen on Scott flowed up Derek's arm and he released his pent up breath in relief as the pain drained away. As the pain no longer drew all his attention, Stiles became hyper aware of Derek's warm hand on his his skin and the proximity of their bodies and he felt heat creep down his cheeks and under the collar of his shirt. “Better?” Derek asked, seemingly unaware of Stiles’ reaction, though he wasn't sure how that was possible.

Clearing his throat, he nodded hesitantly. “Mhmm.”

“You have emissary tattoos.” Derek continued on cluelessly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Are you an emissary and an alpha?”

Stiles pulled his sleeve down quickly, hissing as the wet fabric scraped over the burn. “You weren't supposed to see those.”

“That's not an answer.” Derek pushed.

“You're not entitled to that information.” Stiles grumbled defensively, suddenly feeling as though Derek had all too great a hold on him already.

“You scented me.” Derek countered bluntly his face moving closer to Stiles. “I have the right to know what kind of alpha I'm getting.”

Stiles took a deep breath to calm himself which he immediately regretted as he took in Derek's enticing forest and mint scent.

“I'm a Spark. I figured it out not long after Scott was bitten by a lone alpha who invaded Beacon Hills. The alpha was trying to coerce Scott into making his first kill and I killed him on accident. That's how Scott became my beta. I never learned how to control it, so the tattoos help me diffuse the excess energy.”

Derek scrubbed irritably at his beard thoughtfully and Stiles waited for him to respond.

“Okay.” That was it apparently, before Derek nodded down at his arm. “It still doing okay?”

Stiles inspected his arm again and found the skin beneath his tattoos was still a painful red. “It's fine.” He lied, and Derek immediately shot him a disgruntled frown.

“I'll get you some ice, just go lie down.”

The offer bordered on another courting ritual and Derek confirmed his intentions as he set about wrapping Stiles’ arm in a cool cloth and then packing the ice around it, refusing to let Stiles help and occasionally drawing more pain.

“Stop that,” Stiles protested the fourth time Derek forced the black lines up his arm with a pained groan. “You're going to hurt yourself.”

“I know what I'm doing,” Derek responded dismissively, though his voice quavered faintly.

“I know what you're doing too and you can stop.” Stiles tried to load his tone with as much weight as he could, desperately hoping Derek would catch on that Stiles understood his intentions. Derek's ears flushed a vibrant pink and his eyes flicked up to meet Stiles’ before turning away shyly.

“You have to be sure.” He said bluntly.

“I am.” Stiles answered petulantly.

“You're not.” Derek growled, his voice forceful and frustrated. He stood abruptly and moved himself to the soft armchair in the corner of the room, concealing himself slightly in the shadows where the lamplight didn't quite reach.

They sat in a loaded silence for twenty minutes while the pain in Stiles’ arm was numbed away. When the werewolf sat on the bed once again and set his hands to undo his neat bandage of ice and towels, Stiles felt his breath stutter as the force of their proximity stunned him more powerfully than before. As Derek's warm skin contacted his, a new type of burning sensation shocked through his arm and Derek jerked his hands away as the tattoos seemed to glow with energy. The heat didn't last long but when the glow faded, Stiles lifted his arm to stare at it in amazement.

“It…healed.” Derek observed in awe.

“That's never happened before,” Stiles breathed as he looked up at Derek with heated whiskey-brown eyes. The sudden compliance of his Spark to do what it should could only be attributed to one thing. Without thinking, he reached forward and gripped the back of Derek’s neck with more force and intent than before. Reacting immediately, Derek let his neck fall to the side and a contented sigh fell from his lips. 

“Shit,” Stiles whispered as he slipped his hand around from the back of Derek's neck to the front, where he pressed it firmly against Derek's throat. Were Stiles anyone else, Derek would have rejected the touch so early in the formation of their bond, but he yielded to it easily, his green eyes closing softly. As the moment passed, Stiles let his hand slide loosely back to his lap and Derek looked up at him, warmth lighting up his gaze.

“Have you known this whole time?” Stiles asked tentatively.

Derek nodded. “Werewolves know instantly.” His voice was quiet and raw, as though Stiles had broken something open in him that he wasn't acquainted with yet.

“Why didn't you just say something?”

A good-humored smile lifted the corners of Derek's lips. “Humans don't really understand these things well. You just have to stick around and wait for them to feel it. Eventually they will.”

“So you could say I was a quick study?” Stiles asked, a lightly teasing note to his voice.

“Well, it did take me several, arduous hours of wooing, so I wouldn't go that far.” Derek chided in return.

They sat just watching each other for a while before Derek spoke again.

“Do you want to go to the event tonight?”

“Uh-uh. Scott can handle it. Besides,” Stiles continued, “we're going to cuddle all night so when we go down to breakfast together you smell like all mine.”

Derek rumbles happily from deep in his chest. “Scoot over and pick a movie.”

Stiles wrapped his long arms around Derek's strong frame and they walked down to breakfast with linked hands the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated and come visit me on [tumblr](http://a-mountain-ash.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
